Cold-Blooded
by DemonicPiano
Summary: Snow sprites are puppets to the ice and snow. It's the middle of the Canadian winter and Matthew Williams can't seem to get warm. Maybe it's flu season? Or a second onslaught of puberty? Either way, he's not alone. IT'S RUSCAN BABY. One-shot!


"It's a little chilly, eh?"

"It's winter, yeah."

Matthew gave his coworker at the next desk over a long look. No acknowledgement. He turned back to his own computer screen with a light sigh, flexing his stiff fingers before going back to compiling these ungrateful bastards' - oops, lovely reporters' - findings into a somewhat presentable column. He wore a thick turtleneck. He still shivered.

A glimpse around the cramped clumps of desks and lost souls bent over in their seats foretold nothing of sharing his blight. _That _guy was wearing goddamn shorts in the middle of winter. Matthew gave him a subtle shake of the head, although the tough guy wouldn't notice - he was too worried about bending over some newcomer's work and shaking his buttocks at her.

Matthew whispered to his adjacent sufferer-in-arms, "I'm going to get something warm to drink. I'll be right back, in case one of the bosses comes by."

No reply.

Matthew rolled his eyes, saved his work, then pushed from his chair. The only reason there were cocoa packets for the taking in the break room was because they were leftovers from a manager's party, and nobody wanted cocoa without marshmallows. And milk. Water would (very unfortunately) have to do. It was something warm.

Chilly hands clutched a cheap Styrofoam cup, shaking and sloshing around cocoa powdered-flavored water as Matthew slowly lifted it to his face. Instead of a nice wash of steam opening his nostrils, a slap of sweaty, undesirable muck came over him. He jerked away, waggling his tongue at the sink tempting him to dump the rest of the watery abomination out, but he decided to take it back to his desk and use it as a hot pack.

Matthew set the cup down, curling and uncurling his fingers. The cocoa's spell backfired; instead of relieving numbness, his fingers turned into noodles. At least those were supposed to soak in hot water. Not cocoa. Yes, this ruined the whole point of a steamy beverage. He was raised with standards. At least for hot chocolate. And men.

His shivering lessened to a nauseous quivering. Matthew crammed a lump back down his throat before tacking on his keyboard. He tossed more cocoa back as he started to get toasty under his sweater, regretting doing so as the taste washed over his tongue, but persevered through the rest of the dull day.

On the walk back home, Matthew tried to remember what he did for eight hours, but could not think of anything besides white walls of text. The snow banks seemed to give extra cold to the air, like Canada was a giant refrigerator and God just turned down the temperature dial.

Matthew eyed their grayed, gravel-infested lumps along the sidewalk, imagining too easily how the cold drifted and curled over his skin. Even under three thick layers, it was as if the cold was inside of him, posing as miniature ice cubes in his veins.

An uneventful walk, an uneventful handful of hours before bedtime. His flat was quiet. He kept the TV set low as news reporters poured over anything wrong with the world. Oh, and a local puppy adoption. Hey, puppies were the best.

Matthew violently shivered on the couch. He sent a weird look to the thermostat before relenting and hobbling over to give it a nudge for warmth. Back to the couch. Shivering. Thermostat again.

Oops, too warm now. Matthew shed his blanket and turned down the temperature a little. Back to the couch. Blanket intact. Weather time. It was going to be cold all week. Then a snow storm by the weekend. He bet the school kids were excited at the sound of that. He would muster up a smile at the thought of pretty sparkling flakes before relentless feet stomped it to pity if he weren't shaking in some kind of fit.

Matthew decided to keep the thermostat down, as he could always add more layers and more blankets, as opposed to shedding his skin when it got too warm. Under five blankets - yes, five thick comforters - he shivered. Of course he shivered. As if the blankets weren't going their job. Or he wasn't giving them warmth to give it back to him. Huh.

Matthew glared in the direction of his bedroom wall, twitching and shaking and quaking so much his darn muscles started to get sore. He plucked his cell phone from the nightstand, trying for the weather again, but this was so damn ridiculous, especially without his glasses, and the screen was just a blur of light jumping back and forth. He slammed the device back on his nightstand and flipped himself over with a growl.

He couldn't shiver all night. Eventually, he would pass out.

~.~

"Agh! Ow, oh, what...?" Matthew pulled his hands from the covers, gawking at his bone-white fingers. He was white, but not _that _white. He whipped his blankets away, putting his icicles-for-legs to the floor and hobbled around his room like the cold from the floor seeped into his feet.

"Ooh, man, this is bad," he spat between trembling teeth. "Just how freaking cold is it? This is starting to get ridiculous."

Matthew grabbed for a pot for tea or even more damn cocoa-water, something warm! Okay, he managed to fetch some milk from the fridge, hissing at the cold coming from there, like there wasn't enough in the world. He stared at the milk gently steam like an insane person would, tempted to stick his fingers in the flames below.

Hey, there was a good idea. Matthew lifted his hands, holding them a little ways to the fire warming his milk. He smiled and nodded to himself as the almost-non-metaphorical sheet of ice against his skin started to melt. Then it burned. He yelped and jerked away.

Matthew was not even close to the stove. Not _that _close. He twisted the knob to lower the heat, grumbling at his own stupidity. He had a roof over his head; he'd warm himself with his heating bill, not the stove top, for crying out loud.

~.~

However, Matthew did not get warm. He got ready for work with stiff fingers. Ate some doughnuts with hands made of ice instead of muscles and what not. Shivered some more. Sometimes the quiet flat was too quiet, but not in a suspicious-spy movie way. It was quiet in a 'damn, I need a boyfriend or a dog in here' kind of way. The teeth chattering filled the silence and rattled his nerves.

Surprise, surprise! It was a cold walk to work, too.

Matthew has been cold many times in his life. Sometimes it was fun. Other times, the snow or freezing rain soaked his socks, and that wasn't as fun. But he never, _ever _got freaking _sore _from shaking so much. He wondered how much of a workout was shivering. Maybe he burned (or froze off) plenty of calories from those two donuts he ate that morning.

"Oh, Mister Williams!" A middle-aged 'Can I speak to the manager' woman strode to his desk with too bright lipstick for the sorrow in her eyes. "Hey!" She nasally brayed, "How's the column going? Did you get my e-mail?"

"Um...the one about the cat pictures? Yeah..."

"Yeah?" She smiled, parting the sea of pink that shouldn't be on someone's face. "You like it? Don't lie, I can see that you do. Everyone's gonna love it. They all love cats. They better, anyway, providing you do your little keyboard magic, and move everything just right...!"

Matthew just blinked as this lady went on and on how one of the previous programmers left a stray code in the middle of her article last quarter, and they received a bunch of angry letters from people that had nothing better to do than complain that they saw 'greater than' and 'lesser than' symbols outside of a school classroom. He let out a shaky exhale, trying not to bite a chunk of his tongue off from his teeth trying to rattle up a band.

"Oh, honey!" The lady cried in a decibel that would make dogs whine. "You look so pale! Are you sick or something? Oh!" She pulled her scarf over her mouth. "I hope you don't give me anything!"

"Mm, n-n-no, I d-don't think s-s-so."

"I'll see about turning up the heat a bit for you, okay? Just...make sure you cough into your sleeve! I'll come by again to see how things are working out! I can't wait to see those kitties on the front page!"

That was new. Asking how Matthew felt. Usually the quick, 'Hey, how's it going?' did not warrant an _actual _response. Yet if he didn't toss a fast, 'Fine, thanks,' then he would seem rude. What a cruel world.

Matthew managed a stiff nod. Words were improbable.

His neighbor gave him a long side-eye, like the chills were contagious. Were they? Matthew didn't know. He almost started to type in the search bar, but his hand quaked as it hovered over the keyboard. A jumble of letters. He could hardly get himself to press the proper keys.

"Ugh," Matthew bemoaned his blight. He sat in his chair, glaring down his keyboard as his glasses slid down his nose. If only the keys would tell him they had everything and not to worry about his work; they got it. Another shudder grabbed a hold of him, and he squeezed his eyes shut to stay sane through its hold.

"Uh...hey," his neighbor leaned forward to eye him up. "Are you...going to be okay?"

"No."

"I think you should go home."

"I just got here."

A long look.

Matthew wanted to say his colleague didn't want to get sick, that's all. He twisted, planting his heels flat to the ground before pushing himself from his chair. A slap of heat came over him. He grunted, and a sticky sheen of dampness poured from his, well, pores. The world and the bewildered faces of journalists swirled around and around and around. "Oh, maple."

The carpet came for him in a flash of ugly stained blue.

~.~

Murmuring. Beeping. Constant beeping. Brightness. Matthew groaned at it all as his head lolled to the side of a...pillow. He was lying down. His eyes flew open.

"Oh...fuck!" He spat to himself in a hospital. A damn hospital. "No, no, come on..."

Matthew was surely sick, but not _that _sick. Jeez, those reporters are so dramatic. They probably clutched their pearls and flapped their hands in front of their faces at the sight of him passing out. He had to have passed out. How would he have gotten there?

"Oh, God, oh, no," Matthew warbled as a strong shudder griped his body. His teeth snapped together, and he let out a furious hiss of breath. "Damn it with the shivering!"

A pretty nurse came into the room, poking around, and tossed a glance toward him looking and feeling miserable on the bed. "Oh, you're awake!" She sang. "Hi! How you feeling?"

"Cold."

"I bet!" The nurse had her best service smile on, but her eyes screamed terror. "Your body temperature was down to thirty-five! Everyone's amazed how you were still up and about like that! So...just take it easy, and the doctor will be right in to...ahem, discuss things with you."

She left in a hurry. Matthew gawked at the ceiling as his insides were shivering now, too. "Thirty-fucking-five degrees."

(Ninety-five for Americans.)

"It's getting colder," he let out a whimper. Grown adult or not, he _hurt. _He was freezing from the inside out like someone stuffed ice packs under his skin when he wasn't looking. Maybe they did. Those bastards.

The vent in the ceiling kicked to life, slapping his face with a wave of heat. He moaned, squirming to get away without getting anywhere. "No, no, no, turn that off, please-!" Another sickening quake grabbed him and would not let go. He doubled over and gagged. The warmth kept coming.

Matthew drew in a sharp breath, snapping, and yelled in annoyance, pain, anger, anything cold-blooded inside of him, it needed to come out. A noise from the side of his bed crinkled. Then the IV bag leading to his arm bursted, raining icicles on the floor. He lifted his arm up to gawk at the tube flailing uselessly from his skin.

Okay, kids, nobody is supposed to do this, yet everybody in movies does - however, instead of ripping it out like some kind of grunting barbarian, Matthew slowly wiggled the needle out of his arm with a little 'Ooh!' and 'Ouch, ouch!'

The tube started to fog in his grip, and he went to peel and detach anything between him and the monitors. Then he was free. Now Matthew could panic.

"Agh!" He ran to the window and smacked his palms to the glass. It was snowing. Wait, snow wasn't called for days. How long was he out?

"Mr. Williams?!"

"Sir, sir! We're going to need you to come back to bed right now!"

Matthew gazed at frost etching from his fingertips, fanning icicles into crystal white designs along the glass.

Nurses approached, "Mister Williams?"

One grabbed his shoulder. The man immediately recoiled with a cry of pain, grabbing his arm as his fingers throbbed against blue-purple skin.

Matthew slowly turned around, arms held up as ice peeked from his pores, running freezing water down to his elbows and dripping to the floor. The entourage of medical staff gawked with wide eyes, breath catching in warm puffs of fog as they met the chilly air. "I think I know what the problem is," he started as the window behind him crackled with frosty intrusion. "I'm made out of ice."

A moment before the window shattered, pouring over the sill as the winter wind flung itself into the hospital room. The staff screamed, throwing their arms over their faces and ducking for cover. Matthew turned to the gray sky, to the white mercilessly pelting the streets. The ice encasing his arms reveled in contact with the biting wind. He was so cold.

"We need the E.R. team in here, stat! Mister Williams?!"

Matthew stepped toward the window. His feet crunched on the glass shards, poking harmlessly against the thickness edging along his skin.

"Mister Williams!" The nurses screeched as he pulled himself through the window, and let himself be blown into the breeze.

~.~

"I can't find the coffee stirrers. Over."

_Bssch, _"They're in the upper cabinet, left hand side. Over."

A man sat at a desk, in a room completely to himself. He pinched the bridge of his nose before snatching the radio off his desk. "Toris! Eduard! The intercom system is for _important _calls and emergencies, not your personal hand-helds!"

A voice murmured from one side, "But it was important..."

"Hush!" One of the men hissed. His voice grew closer, "Uh...sorry, D-Detective Braginsky."

Ivan slammed his radio back on his desk, giving his head a shake before flicking a page of his magazine.

Various murmurs resonated through the radio, calls from around the city. He turned the dial down by a smidge. Just a smidge.

"A stray dog..."

"...my leg got stuck in a snow embankment...in front of the woman I was supposed to be writing a ticket to..."

"Not to sound stereotypical, but I could go with some doughnuts right now."

Static.

"...at the hospital. Some kind of, uh...icy intrusion."

Ivan picked up his head from his magazine.

He turned the dial back up in time to hear another cop relaying, "Yeah, like, some kind of artic blast busted into the medical center. A couple of people have frostbite and cuts from the shards."

"I hear you," Ivan said. "Wait, I'm on my way."

"Detective?"

"Yes. Hold on."

"Oh, the head detective's coming with us?"

Ivan threw on a thick wool coat and stormed out of his office. Various men and women hovering over desks and pouring over bulletin boards hunched and skittered away from his path. Their eyes pricked his broad backside on the way out.

A snow storm was well underway. Two cops popped their heads over their cruiser at his approach. "Sir! You, uh-"

"Move," Ivan said. "I'm driving."

"Uh, yes, sir! The keys are already in the ignition."

Ivan gave him a stupid look, as the vehicle was already rumbling with life and sputtering hot fumes into the air. Once situated, the pair gave each other mirroring looks of shock through the bars blocking the back seats. Worried murmurs and static came from the radio, but other than that, it was a short but extremely thick silence to the medical center.

Another cruiser and private cars haphazardly parked before the entrance, and as soon as the keys left the ignition, Ivan stormed the place just as icily as the building storm outside.

Medical staff bustled around, trying to help confused patients that crept from their rooms to investigate the disturbance. A frail old lady held up a shaky hand to a nurse and complained, "Dear, it's so cold! Won't you turn up the heat?"

Ivan pressed against a wall and snuck around the pair.

"Oh! Is that the police?! Oh, oh! What are they doing here?"

"Ma'am, please, calm down, there was just a mild disturbance..."

Another officer jerked his head to a certain room. "Over here!"

Ivan followed.

Glass decorated the tiled floor, blowing from the grand window lining the furthest wall. Warm breath came from his teammates' faces as their wide eyes scanned the perimeter. One asked, "What could have done this?"

"Who?"

A weird look.

"I spoke to the witnesses. They said a man by the name...Williams approached the window, and it bursted into icy shards."

Ivan asked, "Are you sure of that?"

The officer gave him a good gawk. "Based on witness accounts! The nurses that weren't injured by the flying glass."

"And this Mister Williams escaped?"

"Yes, sir, they said he jumped right out this window."

"Well, there's no body there."

"Yes, sir. He ran off."

"He ran off? After jumping out a window?"

"Apparently."

"So you're implying he is responsible for the window shattering?"

"And injuring the staff members, yes."

Ivan curtly turned away. "Stay here and get the full story."

"Sir?"

"I'm going to bring this Mister Williams into custody." His fellow officers trailed after him. He barked, "Alone!"

"But there's a storm on its way!"

"I won't be long."

Another officer hushed, "Just...let him go. He's the only one that can handle-"

Ivan was already down the hall. Of course, the eyes of medical staff and patients hooked onto the scarf flapping against his back, waving goodbye to the place when he wouldn't. A gust of cold air and snow pellets slapped his face, pulling his coat from his legs as soon as he stepped outside. Dusk was approaching. He needed to be quick.

Shoe-marks stamped the light dusting of snow in the parking lot. Ivan paced until he lined himself below the shattered window. Glass crunched under his boot. His eyes followed down the side of the building, a two story drop, and across the parking lot. The streetlights shimmered against clumps of ice leading across the car pack.

Further, toward the street, the icy dimples morphed into foot-prints. A shallow snow bank, but someone must have fell into it and struggled to get up. The steps led down the sidewalk. Ivan darted down the road, eyes steady on the distant field still covered from the previous snowfall.

The field remained virtually untouched, except when Ivan plowed himself through the ever-deepening sea of white the further out he went. He slowed as struggling leg divots in the snow intersected with older trails until he finally stopped, glancing around sparse trees and a metal baseball cage some distance away.

Before Ivan could step forward, something snagged one of the tail ends of his beige scarf. It tightened against his throat, and he let out a quiet gasp. He twisted around to snatch the cloth away, but icy claws protruded from the snow and kept a firm hold.

"Mister Williams?"

The snow shifted.

A snow-caked head of what should be blond hair emerged. A bone-white face. Wide, hallow lilac eyes. Ivan felt his own face try to pucker into distaste. Pale lips cracked open, and the man hoarsely whispered, "What are you doing?"

"I could ask you the same thing. Are you Mister Williams?"

The man was deathly still - a statue frozen to the ground. Until he barely moved to answer, "Yes."

"Mister Williams," Ivan started, fishing a badge from his coat. "I'm the head detective for this town's police department. I'm going to get you out of this storm and get you warmed up, but I need to ask you a few questions-"

"No, oh, no, no!" Mister Williams released Ivan's scarf, but his arm stayed stunted into the air, claws of ice wide apart and poised to the darkening sky. "No, no, I'm in trouble, aren't I?" His voice stretched thin as ice grasped his throat, "I hurt those people! Oh, no, _no!_"

"Mister Williams-"

"I'm a monster! You need to get away. B-b-before I hurt you, too!"

Ivan's eyebrows fell. Less enthusiastically, "Mister Williams, you are not a monster. Do not say that. We just want to-"

"I said..._get away!_" A hiss of strenuous pain, and a roar of wind poured upon Ivan's head. He threw up his arms as a fury of snow bursted from the ground, swathing him in cold, unforgiving white. He shook the clumps off his coat, and Mister Williams' backside peeked from his hospital gown as he clumsily scrambled amongst thick plows of snow.

Ivan sighed, flexed his fingers, and rolled his head. "Okay, then. Hard way it is."

He swooped to the ground, planting his palms into the snow. Mister Williams had not gotten too far, lunging about in a straight line. Icicles shot over the embankments and under his hands and knees. He yelped as his nails scratched onto the sudden layer of slick, and he fell forward, rump going into the air.

Ivan straightened and approached with slight urgency.

Mister Williams pushed himself up with a delirious shake of his head, tossing a frightened glance over his shoulder, and yipped. It was a short warning before he smacked a hand to the ground, and spikes of ice lurched for Ivan's face.

Ivan's arms cut through the night air, and a sheet of iced-over snow emerged from the embankment to catch his assault.

"What the..." Mister Williams cried in shock and fright as everything crumbled to the ground. "You're...you're...!"

"Mister Williams," Ivan dully sang as he came closer. The carpet of ice withered beneath his boots, "You should try to make this as easy for yourself as possible."

Mister Williams scrambled backwards against the weakening ice. He gasped as it melted, only to clamp in a frozen lock around his hands, gluing him to the dead grass. "No! I don't want to go back! I'll only hurt more people!"

"Oh? Because you think you're a monster?"

Wriggling intensified. Mister Williams managed to burst one of the clumps of ice around his hands and flail his free arm in the air. "Yes! Look at me! What else would I be?!"

Two waves of snow rose from the ground, but Ivan swished his hands. They harmlessly crumbled into loose sentiment. He fell on top of Mister Williams' legs, much to the other man's horror, and clamped icy fingers over his head.

Mister Williams wreathed and put his own palm to Ivan's face. "What are you doing?!"

Ivan took a deep inhale as cold sank into his skin, freezing his veins, and a smile played with his lips, "You shouldn't say that! Because if you're a monster..."

Spikes of ice protruded from his pale hair, and Mister Williams could only watch as frost etched across the detective's body...

"Then what does that make me?"

A sharp breath to scream, but nothing came as the entirety of ice encasing Mister Williams receded, right into Ivan's pores. His eyes rolled back into his head, and he slumped into the snow. Unmoving, the whiteness to his skin morphed into a slightly more healthier pink.

Ivan released his clutch, and left Williams on the ground to rise to his feet. He tipped his head to the sky, and let out a long sigh, dispelling dragon's breath of ice into the air. The frost against his clothes melted, dripping back into the ground, and he, too, looked unlike a 'monster' anymore.

Ivan dug around his coat for his hand-held. "Unit one, this is Braginsky."

His radio crackled and hissed. He held it from himself until it died down. "Unit one, do you copy?"

Hissing. A disconnected, "Sir?"

"I found Mister Williams. I said, I found Mister Williams!"

"Is he alive, sir?"

"Yes, although unconscious. He will need medical attention right away. I'm bringing him in." Ivan tucked his radio back into his coat without waiting for a reply. "Monster," he mused with a scoff. "Just for shivering and blowing out a window? That is child's play."

It was a cold, nightly walk back to the hospital with Mister Williams in tow.

~.~

Beeping.

Oh, no, heart monitor beeping!

Matthew's eyes flew open.

Just as he shot to sit with a horrified gasp, something clamped onto his chest and shoved him back down. A hospital room. Of course he was back in a hospital room. His wrists were free, however, not tied down like some wretched creature's would be. His fingers gripped the stiff fabric of his cot as he zoned on another man dwarfing a visitor's chair beside him.

"Stay down."

Matthew complied with a skittish gulp. The man's hands seeped cold back into his skin, a moment before he relinquished himself back to his own personal space. "Aren't you with the police?"

"Yes. You remember me?" Almost lightheartedly, although the big man's smile did not meet his eyes, "We had a little bit of a romp in the snow back there."

Matthew awkwardly grunted, gluing his gaze to the ceiling. He was in so much trouble. He was probably going to get life behind bars. If evil science people did not get to poke him with lots of sharp tools, first. Ice picks, probably. He was made of ice. Or at least, it felt like it. A little less. Maybe his veins were filled with slushy ice water instead.

The man raised his strong eyebrows. "Mister Williams? Are you feeling okay?"

Stinging. Tears pooled in Matthew's eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I don't know...I didn't mean for anything bad to happen." He scrunched his nose and turned his face away so he was not bawling in front of this near-stranger, "Ugh, my entire life is ruined. Ugh, it wasn't even impressive in the first place-"

A cold palm eased against the back of his hand. Matthew's fingers twitched against subtle prickles etching along his skin, "You are not a criminal, Mister Williams. You are a troubled man."

"I'm _in _trouble."

His company retracted his hand again with a sharp sigh. "Let us start over, okay?" He gestured to himself, to his soft cheeks yet cold eyes, "I am Detective Ivan Braginsky from the Police Department. You are in the hospital because you need _help. _Not because you are a monster. You are not a criminal. You are confused. That is normal. You just shot ice from your fingers. Again, that is normal. I will tell you why. We will help you."

Matthew lolled his head toward Braginsky. "Okay." He probably already was headed to the can. Minus well get answers. In a small voice, "Why?"

Perhaps it was his imagination, but a light clap of chill ghosted Matthew's cheeks as Ivan leaned forward, much less jaded and annoyed with the world. In near wonder, "You are a snow sprite."

"Um, what?"

"They are a species of humans that can manipulate and are manipulated by the cold-"

"I know what a snow sprite is."

Ivan stared.

"I've read up on the different kinds of sprites throughout my life. My brother's a heat sprite."

Ivan's eyebrows crunched together. "Ah. A heat sprite. Yet you...hm, that's odd. Are your parents...?"

"Both are rain sprites."

"Mutts?"

Matthew almost smiled. "Yeah, you can say that. Got a whole bunch of mixed blood in me, I guess."

"And out came the ice instead?"

The cold permeating the room didn't feel so bad. It almost felt warming, but not warm, in a kind sense. Matthew let out a long, easing exhale. "Yeah. Looks like it."

"You never...gave off any indication that you have these sorts of abilities?"

"Nope. Well, my brother always felt too hot to the touch. Like, if he hung on me too long, I would always sweat, and-"

"That's normal for heat sprites."

"Oh."

"Maybe it was simply years' build up. Or a late onslaught of growing up?" Ivan leaned against his chair, dragging his hand over his chin. Then a slight uplift to his lips, "You are an enigma, Mister Williams. When I got that call that some lunatic threw himself out a window in the middle of a snow storm, I was not expecting this."

"You were expecting some crack-addict, were you?"

"In kinder words."

Matthew found his own face pulling to a smile. "Thank you, Mister Braginsky. You're much kinder than the impression your stories give off."

Short lived bliss. Ivan fell solemn. Some haunt behind his eyes, "My stories?"

"I compile reports from around town for the local newspaper. I remember your name popping up a lot." Matthew tapped a finger against the bed, nonchalantly goading for attention, "There was a fire at the nearby quick stop last year. You were there. A generator, I think, overheated, and you...you 'sucked' the cold out of the air, and literally cooled it with your hands. It was amazing reading the reports. What you said about it. I could never imagine being able to do something like that. Amazing."

Ivan dropped his gaze to the hands folded on his lap. "Oh, that."

"Just 'that?'"

"I got into trouble from that. Mostly a slap on the wrist, but people say what they want to say in those kinds of situations. You're not supposed to make a big speculation of your powers around other people. Especially our type." Ivan's prominent nose curled as he hissed the words, "'Public disturbance.'"

Thoughts of getting thrown in a stony jail plagued Matthew's mind again. Scientists, with big, sharp scalpels-

"It's a solitary life," Ivan murmured. "Not enough people know much of anything having to do with us. Not enough people _want _to know anything. Our touch can and will hurt them. Who would you blame but yourself for your own loneliness?" He blinked, and picked up his head. A slight slap of cool air dusted Matthew's cheeks. There windows were not open. "Ah, that was a little bit too sad, yes?"

Matthew couldn't help a little laugh. "Yeah, that was real freaking sad. We _are _monsters."

"Now _that _was sad. I suppose even monsters feel it, too, yes? Does that really make us monsters, compared to those who deny it?"

"Ugh, stop it, you're making my head hurt."

Ivan let out a giggle. A giggle. The grin cracking along his pale face attracted eyes more than that gloom hanging over the room. "It is not all bad news, Mister Williams."

"Really, you can call me Matthew. And what is it?"

"Matthew. Matvey. No, Matthew. Yes. Uh, you're most likely going to get charged with the cost of window repairs."

"I knew that. That's not good news, anyway."

"You also hurt people."

"Detective, I thought you said you had _good _news."

"You're not going to get arrested, or tossed in some spooky prison."

Matthew's eyes went wide. "What?"

"The hospital is not pressing charges, as long as you cover the damage. Not as a criminal, at least, but there was nothing I could do to dissuade them from seeing it as an onslaught of mental health issues."

Matthew fell back against his pillow. "They probably are, anyway."

"Don't say that."

"Whoops."

Ivan scrunched his face for a moment, before it fell back into a sly grin. His hand breeched the mattress, crinkling the hospital sheet, "You live in a good place. People will take care of you. Maybe...when you come back...if you find yourself without a job, the station is always looking for honest people to share our stories. Journalists. Reporters. Programmers, too. Those are always in demand."

"What?" Matthew gasped, "Mister Braginsky, no. You can't. You shouldn't-"

"I'll put in a good word for you."

"_Why?_"

"I like your stories." Ivan almost said he liked Mister Williams. That would have been a bit too soon, wouldn't it? He just tackled the guy to the snowy ground and knocked him out, after all. Usually people don't make friends that way. Usually he didn't make friends at all. He decided to go with, "I always read my stories coming back to me, from you."

Matthew's hands curled over his own face. "Oh, no..."

"I think you even called me a 'hero' once-"

"No, no..."

Ivan grinned, "I actually don't live an impressive life, Matthew."

"Says you." A ripple of cold air drifted across the cot. Matthew shot the detective a look that was supposed to be threatening, almost as if goading him to 'Try me.' "I think...what you did...I thought that was impressive."

"Do you mean, what I did a few hours ago, or just in general?"

Matthew lightly smacked Ivan's shoulder, grinning, "Shut up."

Ivan found himself copying the mingling chills in the air. "I'm going to have to ask you a few questions about what happened."

After some thought, "Okay, Mister Detective. Ask away."

It took some guts to reach over and put an icy palm to another.

At the end, Ivan stepped out of Matthew's hospital room, realizing his interrogation was something more of a self-indulgent questionnaire.

Snow sprites live solitary lives. Maybe this one didn't have to.


End file.
